


the call of the void

by vvoidknight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abandonment, Codependency, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Gen, Healing, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvoidknight/pseuds/vvoidknight
Summary: Roxy and Dirk are foster kids in a bad situation until they aren't. But then they have to go and learn how to be part of a family, which is a lot easier said than done.





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my story, Paper Knives.

The air conditioner was on a bit too high, making it just a little too cold for Roxy’s tastes, but as a dutiful best friend, she wasn’t going to make Dirk turn it down just for her. Instead, she wrapped herself in a blanket and took up her usual spot on the couch, remote in hand. She took her time flipping through channels to find something to watch as she listened to Dirk rambling on and on.

“I’m still thinking of a name for him,” Dirk was saying, chattering idly as he liked to do when Roxy was around (and truthfully, probably even when she wasn’t as well), jabbing an eraser moodily at the paper in front of him. Despite his blatant oversharing monologue, he had been guarding that particular piece of paper fiercely, not letting Roxy see what was on it.

“Name him dickbutt,” Roxy said absently. She chose not to see the dark look that was sent her way and instead settled her channel flipping to cartoons. Satisfied by her selection and ready to indulge her friend in his clear cry for attention, she crawled to the other side of the couch to peek over at the boy huddled beside it. He noticed her movement and tried to hurry to hide his papers before she saw.

He was too slow for her keen eyes, though. She had _cat-like_ reflexes.

“Did you draw yourself as a robot?” she asked immediately, tone conveying that his was probably the best gift he could ever give her: the pinnacle of all teasing topics from now to forever. Dirk aggressively shoved the papers under the couch and refused to answer, crossing his arms. She reached out to paw at his head annoyingly, a large grin overtaking her face. “Dirk, are you designing your robo-sona?”

“No,” he burst out and then hid his face in his hands. “He’s an artificial intelligence and he’s going to be the best of his kind.”

“Name him Hal 9001,” Roxy said, stopping her harassment and beginning to pet his hair.

Dirk shook his head, both to upset her hand and also to deny her suggestion. He told her, “That’s not gonna work with copyright.”

“Can you even _spell_ copyright?”

“Yes!”

Roxy laughed and went over the arm of the couch to tickle her friend until he begged for mercy.

* * *

Grinning and already plotting the upcoming movie marathon, Roxy ducked through a row of bushes and pushed aside a garbage can to get through the fence. She had… liberated… a few movies starring Dirk’s hero, Dane Strider, from a classmate’s house when they met to work on a project for Social Studies. She was sure that he’d have already seen them, but it would still be fun to watch them together. She could tease him for his hero-worship and he could tell her all kinds of fun trivia.

Caught up in her own pondering, she almost missed Dirk entirely.

He was slumped over the kitchen table, head buried in his arms. Roxy’s stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably when she took in the state of his salvaged clothes.

“Hey, Dirky,” she greeted quietly. She moved over to rub his slumped and defeated shoulders. For a moment, she had hope that she was just being irrational, but all too soon he was shrugging her hands off him.

“Hey, Rox,” he said, voice carefully flat. “What’s up, Hacker Supreme?”

Roxy’s lips curled into a ghost of a smile at the reminder of the lost bet. She hummed and leaned against the table, aiming for playful as she said, “Welllllllll I _somehow_ came across some movies and I thought that I would share with my bestest best friend!”

“Thanks,” Dirk said, sounding like he meant it though his tone was still… well, dead. “But I’m kind of… tired tonight. Sorry.”

Roxy looked down at him and spied some bruising down the back of his hoodie.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling sick to her stomach. “Okay. Maybe next time, huh?”

* * *

There was a young girl down the personal healthcare aisle of the convenience store, unmonitored by parent or harried employee as she browsed the admittedly limited selection. In another aisle, a red faced woman shrieked at the employee behind the counter, distracting him more effectively than the girl could ever have. Quickly, the girl reached out and plucked an item off the shelf, pocketing it in one smooth motion.

Her bit of thievery complete, the girl moved over to the candy aisle and selected a pack of Skittles and some Reese Cups before trotting up to the counter. She placed her selections on the counter and beside them, a five dollar bill. The employee, relieved to have a calmer customer, rang her up quickly.

“Your change is three dollars,” he informed her, pulling the money from his register.

“Keep it,” she said and collected her candy, swiftly exiting before he could argue.

Her purple gaze, while haunting, was quickly forgotten when the squalling woman returned.

* * *

Popping a Skittle in her mouth, Rose Lalonde examined the package of condoms she swiped that morning while her esteemed guardian, the brilliant and beloved Ruth Lalonde, slept the deep, sweet sleep of the overly intoxicated on the bed just beside her own. The two half sisters were visiting Los Angeles on business, as Ruth was spending the week attending a conference and presenting her research.

All it meant for Rose was being occasionally allowed to tag along, but mostly just waking her inebriated sister in time for social engagements.

Rose turned the small cardboard package over in her hands. It announced that it contained three condoms. Extra large, it proclaimed in a tacky orange font. Her nose furrowed in distaste, but she still peeled the cardboard open and extracted the promised three packages. She looked over them curiously, equal parts fascinated and repulsed. Growing up in an all woman household with only woman that dated other woman, Rose was given very little knowledge of what to expect from men.

At the tender age of 11, Rose was too curious and too clever. And besides, she had a vested interest in learning what to expect from… sex.

Swallowing hard, she looked over to Ruth, but her legal guardian remained drunkenly oblivious to her charge’s discontent. She snored into the pillow softly, a thankfully corked bottle of wine clutched in one of her hands, makeup smearing and soiling the pillowcase. Rose looked away, anger rising in her. Ruth would sleep until 3, at which point Rose would play the dutiful daughter and begin the long and arduous profess of waking her and prodding her into making herself presentable for dinner with some local noted academics. But until that time, Rose was on her own. As she always was.

Rose tore open one of the packets and extracted the condom inside, staring at it in revulsion. The handy instructions explained its application and use well enough, but she couldn’t imagine exactly how it would-

Ruth’s phone began to ring and Rose was up on her feet at once, racing to the bathroom to relieve herself of the breakfast of candy she’d had that morning. She retched until her stomach was empty, but the phone still rang and Ruth still snored.

Without bothering to clean herself up, Rose padded out of the bathroom to pick up the phone, staring at the caller ID with a face devoid of expression. Seeing her brother’s name on the display, she accepted the call and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Dane,” she greeted, ever the polite and dutiful sister. “I regret to inform you that Ruth is indisposed at the moment. May I take a message?”

“Blackout drunk, you mean,” he grumbled. “And training you to be the next Calliope, I guess. Anyway, I’m outside. Want to grab lunch with your favorite superstar brother?”

Rose looked to Ruth, who was snoring a bit louder at the increase in noise in the room and then to the condoms on her bed. She said, “My dear brother, there is absolutely nothing in this cruel, heartless world that I would enjoy more.”

* * *

When Dane Strider treated a girl to a meal, he did things right. That is to say, Rose was picked up in a beat up old Ford and driven to the second closest Burger King. Dane opted for the drive through, telling Rose that he didn’t want to be mobbed by the paparazzi for a McDouble. Rose, kindly, did not correct him. They got burgers and fries and Dane insisted upon asking for a set of cardboard crowns.

It was trashy.

It was the most fun Rose had in a long time.

* * *

Dane parked the car in the back of a Walmart parking lot while they ate, air conditioning on full blast, making Rose shiver a bit, but not enough for her to request he turn it off. She toyed with the positioning of her crown and checked how it looked in the side mirror, thinking of taking a picture and sending it to Rosa or Dave. Perhaps even Kanaya.

Or Ruth. To show the woman what went on while she was otherwise occupied.

“How is Dave?” she asked, interrupting her brother as he rambled on about his latest project.

“Eh… fine, I guess,” Dane answered, tone turning more somber as he scratched his five o’clock shadow thoughtfully. “He and Bro are doing the whole family counseling thing now. It’s going pretty well and I think things are going to be okay. We Skype each other almost every night.”

Rose made a thoughtful noise. Dane broke character and smiled at her a bit. “Maybe you can come spend the night at my place and crash the sick brotherly bonding session.”

“Oh, I’d love to,” she said, dragging a fry through the mound of ketchup on the now empty greasy burger paper. “But I do have to go back to the hotel to wake Ruth. She has a dinner engagement, after all and it wouldn’t be good for her career to miss it.”

“Just call Calliope,” Dane said dismissively, stoic face solidly back in place.

‘She’s back in New York. Ruth wanted it to be just us sisters for this trip. Said she wanted from quality sister bonding time and may have even mentioned a trip to pool.”

“But she can’t be assed to not drown herself in the bottle,” he frowned, but his expression cleared quickly enough. “Well, it’s her loss. We can go back to the hotel for you to pick up some shit and wake her up and then go back to my place for some brother-slash-sister bonding time.”

“’ _Slash’_?”

“I swear to God, Rose,” he groaned. “Don’t start that Freudian bullshit with me right now. Let’s go kidnap you.”

“Kidnap me?”

“With permission.”

“Ah, naturally.”

* * *

Dane was never one to skimp out on luxuries for himself, though his stubborn insistence on irony led to a distinct lack of taste in all aspects of his life. Rose was set up with a makeshift bed on Dane’s couch. The pillows were offensively orange and the plush duvet was glaringly red, but they were more comfortable than anything a hotel could offer.

The TV still played a selection of Dane’s earlier movies for background noise, but the man himself had already retired for the night after livery involving pizza and video games and a skype chat with her twin in Texas.

It was… nice… having someone around.

* * *

Ω: You will be returning soon.

TT: Yes I will.

Ω: I look forward to your homecoming. I have scheduled a personal lesson on etiquette in my office, first thing come Monday morning.

Ω: I trust you will find your way.

TT: But of course.

* * *

Rose’s best friend was a girl named Kanaya. She had startlingly green eyes and her black hair was cut in a cute bob. It was almost distressing how many times Rose would catch herself simply gazing at her friend, but it was easy enough to play off as admiration. Kanaya frequently wore her own fashion creations and they were _always_ beautiful.

“And how was Los Angeles?” Kanaya asked curiously, looking at Rose over their trays laden with breakfast, freshly liberated from the clutches of the dead eyed lunch ladies. The cafeteria din was almost enough to drown out the quiet voice of the Maryam, but Rose never had a problem hearing her.

Rose finished the bite of her cereal she’d been working on and settled on, “Uneventful.”

No matter how close they were, Rose knew Kanaya held the other Lalonde sisters in such high esteem that she couldn’t imagine her believing Rose about the long, boring hours spent in the hotel as Ruth lay passed out just a few feet away. Or how Rose tried the wine and found it distinctly awful. Or the little bit of thievery.

“It must have been nice to get away from school, at least,” she said, oblivious to Rose’s thoughts. She favored the Lalonde with a smile that Rose returned at once.

* * *

The etiquette lession… was best left forgotten, Rose decided as she slunk out of the office and off towards her first class of the day.

* * *

Toeing the floor with a threadbare sock, Dave Strider revolved slowly in his desk chair as his computer slowly booted up. He’d only just arrived home from school before barricading himself in his room to begin his usual ritual of trying to pray his computer into functionality enough to talk to his best friends, not to mention his twin.

Despite the riches his older brother must be rolling in due to his status as a veritable fucking _superstar_ , the Strider Texas household was… kind of shitty, if he was being honest (which he actively tried to resist, tried to guise everything in layers and layers of mislabeled irony). Everything was used until it was barely holding on. Duct tape was a signature of Strider Swag, Bro claimed. It was ironic, he said as he sewed up Dave’s ripped hoodie for the fourth time that week.

Dave would never say it to his face, but he thought Derek was full of it sometimes.

Ruth, having had one or two or three too many at some family event or another, explained that it was because back in her childhood, their family had struggled financially. Dave sat, uncomfortable but obedient, as she pet his hair between sips of her martini and cried very quietly while telling about his aunt, Ruth’s mother. In her life she had been a selfish shrew, she claimed. A selfish bitch that would spend all of the family’s money on herself rather than buy groceries.

Dave understood why his older siblings were driven to such thrifty lengths; he really did. But Dane was richer than _God_ now, or so Dave understood through conversations in the family and by simply googling his older brother’s net worth. There was no reason they couldn’t enjoy the finer things in life every once in awhile.

 _Rose_ got new things.

Dave immediately felt guilty for the thought. He would take Bro and his strifes and pussyfooting around the boundaries of abuse and brotherly tussling over Ruth and her drunken benders any day. Bro never had to buy his affection.

Dave halted himself with a hand on his desk. His computer was ready for use and so his introspection was shelved and promptly put out of mind.

* * *

“Bro,” Dave called, poking his head in the living room to find his guardian playing, of all things, _Tony Hawk’s Underground_. He was promptly distracted from his original point, “Goddamn, old man, you have _no_ taste.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Derek said casually, flinging his character into the concrete ground headfirst, which would have probably killed him instantly in real life. He tossed the controller on the seat next to him and twisted to look over the back of the futon. “What did you need, man?”

“Oh, you need to sign this,” Dave remembered, brandishing a piece of paper at his oldest brother. Hoping to head off any actual discussion, he hurried to add, “It’s just a permission slip for the zoo next week.”

“Can I ask them to just toss you in with the animals?” Derek asked, defying all of Dave’s fragile hopes and beginning to read the permission slip. He asked, “Is this gonna be safe?”

“If a toddler can avoid death at the zoo, so can I,” Dave grumbled.

“With your classmates,” he clarified, fixing an intense stare on his little brother. “Will you be safe?”

“Never-fucking-mind,” Dave said, snatching the paper and darting back for his room even though Derek called for him to return.

* * *

Roxy’s room was small. Tucked away in the basement, sharing a wall with the laundry room and the thumping washing machine, Roxy was largely forgotten by her foster family, which suited her just fine. She was used to hordes of other children just like her - unwanted by the parents that bore them. Some were lucky enough that they were just temporarily taken away - or unlucky depending on the circumstances.

The concrete floor was always cold, but Roxy was in luck. Cute pairs of socks were laughably easy to shoplift, what with all of the sales associates focused on the bigger, more expensive items. Sometimes she felt guilty about the stuff she took, but she had no other means to get the things she needed.

The place was lit by only one small window at ground level. It was actually broken and didn’t close right, but Roxy could stuff a pillowcase in the crack and be happy as a clam kept in subpar conditions, but determined to make the best of things.

She also had a miner's hat, but that was sneakily liberated from her foster father’s work station. She liked wearing it and pulling the sheets over her head to read at night. Her favorite book was _Lessons in the Dark Arts_ by Rosa Lalonde. She remembered picking up the book at a local garage sale years ago because the author had the same last name as her (and she was a she!). She spirited the book away and was lost to a world of fantasy and heroines for a whole week before she finished it.

After that, she made it a goal to collect the rest of Rosa Lalonde’s works. It was slow going, but she even had some poetry magazines where the author got her start! They were the pride of her collection, right beside her prized battered first edition of _Complacency_ _of the Learned_. All of the collection was lovingly contained in a trash bag, which was largely how she transported her things from foster home to foster home.

A few homes ago, an older boy burned her copy of _A Hero’s Downfall_ while she could only watch, crying. She was lucky this time; her collection was only under threat from her foster parents, but they were more than happy to drink themselves into a stupor in the living room, television blaring some sitcom or another.

Which invariably led to trouble, as Roxy was not a girl to be contained. While they lay in the deep sleep of the well and truly drunk, their foster daughter scurried around the house and collected what she needed. Sometimes it was as simple as a pen. Sometimes it was a half empty bottle of vodka.

Tonight, it was the latter. She selected one that was closer to empty than full and retrieved the full bottle from the kitchen to replace it. The perfect crime, she reasoned. They would never miss a few sips with a whole other bottle to exploit.

But the ever daring Roxy wasn’t done yet, instead choosing to climb the stairs, thinking of raiding the medicine cabinet. Her foster mom had some kind of prescription for painkillers and Roxy could make a little bit of money swiping a few and selling them. It’s not like the woman ever even remembered the pills through the numb haze of alcohol.

She was in luck and palmed a good half of the bottle before starting back towards the stairs, mentally patting herself on the back. She was a ninja. A cat burgler in the night.

And then the doorbell rang.

Roxy’s foster parents weren’t the type to put in much effort or, to be quite honest, any effort at all. When their doorbell died, they paid a friend of a friend $10 and a promise of a bottle of gin to fix it. It worked in the loosest of definitions, but unfortunately it sounded less like a charming bell and more like the unholy shrieks of the damned, only louder somehow.

Startled, Roxy dropped the bottle she’d been carrying and clasped her hands to her ears, only just managing to keep a hold on the pills she’d swiped. The bottle thumped down a few stairs before gaining enough momentum to hurtle the last few and crash to the floor, shattering on impact. Roxy mouthed a curse, bravery and confidence fleeing with her voice. She turned to look at the hallway behind her but there was no other way downstairs.

She was trapped.

“What the hell is that racket?” her foster father, a truly heinous participant in the human race, half yelled. “Joanne, get your ass up and get the door.”

“I’m _going_ ,” she snapped, slurring her words. Roxy crouched at the top of the stairs, staring down with huge eyes and hoping fruitlessly that they wouldn’t notice the glass. “What the hell is that glass from?”

“What glass?”

Roxy clenched her eyes shut as her foster mother rounded the corner. She was spotted instantly.

“Tim, come get your little bitch of a daughter,” Joanne yelled, instantly incensed. The thump of his work boots were recognizable even over the shrieking of the doorbell. They clumped up the stairs and Roxy could do nothing but clench her eyes closed harder and tighten her fists. She was going down for the booze, but there was no way she was going down for the pills.

He grabbed her and yanked her up by her elbow, forcing her to stand on tiptoes to stand at all. He started bellowing abuse and dragging her down the stairs while her foster mother opened the door and demanded, “What do you want?”

“Let me go,” Roxy was half-yelling, trying to find any escape so that she might not end tonight in an emergency room.

“You little conniving sneak,” he was growling.

“My name is Claire Pentri,” the visitor was saying. “I’m with social services. I’ll be removing Roxy from your custody tonight.”

“Let go of her, Tim!” Joanne yelled without looking back at the two of them. Tim dropped Roxy’s arm and overbalancing made her tumblr forwards into a coffee table. Roxy caught herself instinctively, scattering the pills across the surface, but it went ignored as they adults stood as still as statues, clearly in a silent war of wills. If anyone were to ask Roxy, she would have put money (that she didn’t have) on the social worker. Though she was shorter than either of Roxy’s (former?) foster parents, she stood with a conviction and had a fire in her eyes that could not be denied.

Roxy looked at the social worker and thought quickly. Her presence meant one thing: rehoming. And Roxy couldn’t let that happen.

She pushed herself up from the floor and darted back towards the kitchen and through the backdoor, shouts of her name following her into the evening. She ducked between houses and ran as fast as she could. She swallowed back tears at the thought of leaving behind her collection of Rosa Lalonde’s works and her cute socks and her stolen miner’s hat.

It took roughly five minutes for Roxy to get to her destination. It was a nice house, well maintained by the landscapers most of the neighborhood used. To the untrained eye, it was virtually indistinguishable from any other house, but Roxy knew better. It was the empty house. Bills all paid remotely, no car in the driveway or any real signs of life. Only one person lived in the empty house and he happened to be Roxy’s best friend.

She moved around to the fenced in back yard and let herself in the sliding door, calling out for the only inhabitant, “Dirk?”

There was no immediate answer. Roxy walked in enough to flip on the lights and then hurried to closed the blinds over the door. She called again, “Dirk, you better be in here!”

“I’m here,” he said, emerging from the living room. He blinked at the lights and squinted at her. “You shouldn’t be out so late.”

“Sorry for crashing your bachelor pad party,” she said, a tad sarcastically. “But I guess I live here now!”

“What?” he asked. He thought for a second while Roxy just put her face in her hands and crouched down, overwhelmed. “Roxy, what?”

“A social worker just… showed up!” she burst out, gesticulating wildly.

“Isn’t that their job?” Dirk asked dryly. “I mean, I’m guessing here from what you’ve told me since we both know that no social worker ever comes knocking on _my_ door.”

“She showed up while Tim was dragging me back down to the basement,” Roxy clarified. She fell back onto her bottom and sat, legs crossing comfortably. She avoided Dirk’s squinting orange eyes and admitted, “They caught me swiping a bottle of their good stuff. And when I say good stuff I mean mediocre at best. And when I say bottle I mean it was like two big swigs at _best_. Stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you any way,” Dirk argued. After a moment, he came to sit beside her on the tile floor, close but not touching her. “So… welcome home?”

“Thanks,” Roxy said, staring straight ahead. “It means a lot.”

* * *

Roxy took advantage of Dirk’s bathroom to shower off all the debris and bad thoughts of the day, taking care with her feet. She had to sit on the edge of the tub and wash them as they were covered in dirt and blood from some particularly thorny landscaping and hellishly sharp rocks. It took her nearly an hour and when she was done she threw on an old pair of Dirk’s threadbare shorts. He had approximately three shirts to choose from and she couldn’t guarantee any were clean, so she chose to go without.

Dirk was gay and she figured she didn’t have enough in the chestal region to have to cover up anyway.

She rejoined him in his bedroom, feeling oddly opposed to claiming the other bedroom even though she would have to get used to the thought eventually if she were to live here. Dirk was sitting on his bed, scribbling in a notebook, but he looked up and frowned as soon as she entered.

“You don’t like my shirts?” he asked.

“Nudism is in this season,” she said. “Get with the times, DiStri.”

“No thanks,” he grumbled and went back to his scribbling. Roxy moseyed over to take a look.

“Oh, sweet! Is that another robot design?” she asked, perking up immediately. She was a fan of tinkering though Dirk stubbornly corrected her when she called it that. It was _robotic engineering_ and it was _very serious business_. Roxy rolled her eyes at the very thought.

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate. Roxy sat beside him and began playing with his hair and he, in all of his magnanimity, let her. They lost themselves in a comfortable silence until Roxy couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Do you mind having me here?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him from behind and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“Of course not,” he said. “I’d rather you live here than be taken away. Where would they even move you? Probably too far away. It’s better this way.”

“Yeah,” Roxy agreed, though she thought that maybe the next set of foster parents might be better. She would have to leave Dirk and that was unacceptable. What would he do without her? She turned her head and buried her face into his neck, trying to quiet her thoughts.

“That tickles,” he said after a moment. “Get off.”

Roxy clenched her eyes shut for a moment, grimacing, before forcing a smile to her face and trilling, “Never ever ever! I love you _that_ much!”

* * *

The doorbell rang.

It wasn’t an entirely uncommon happening, as no domicile was without visitors, though the empty house only ever got the sort that came in the afternoon and asked to spread religion to the masses. But it was solidly night and even the more dedicated of religious peons were at home, probably going to bed for an early morning of Bible thumping.

Roxy sat up, heart hammering in her chest. Dirk sat up beside her, the two having fallen asleep on his bed while chatting about the latest postings on the Rosa Lalonde fan forum they both frequented. Dirk asserted that, being her brother, Dane Strider would make the best director for any film adaptations and they argued the point well past a reasonable point.

“Ignore it,” Dirk said, unconcerned and misunderstanding Roxy's panic. “They’ll go away.”

“Not if they think I’m here,” she said. “They’ll think there are adults here holding me hostage or... or... something.”

She looked at Dirk and thought. If they both fled then she wasn’t sure where they’d go. Sure, they knew a few of the neighborhood kids, but all of them were in rough places. They had no one else to harbor them.

“Do you trust me?” she asked him.

“Yeah, of course,” he answered. “Duh, Roxy.”

Roxy nodded, not trusting her own voice. She rolled out of bed and grabbed a shirt at random and pulled it on, nose wrinkling in disgust at the oil stains. She told Dirk to wait where he was and trotted downstairs to the front door, pulling it open bravely though she was terrified of the outcome.

“Can I help you?” she asked, sounding more confident than she was. There were two police officers standing before her.

“Roxy Lalonde?” one of them asked.

“Speaking,” she said.

“We’re here to take you home, the one that asked after her said kindly while her partner peered into the darkened house behind her. “Come along now.”

“I don’t have a home now,” Roxy informed her. “The social worker said so. And I’m not going to a new one because I’m not leaving Dirk.”

“Who’s Dirk?”

Roxy swallowed hard and said, “Just the little boy that was abandoned in this house years ago. He’s my best friend, so we’re going to live here now unless we both go to the same foster home. You can tell the social worker I said that.”

As quick as any of the stray cats she cared for, Roxy stepped back and slammed the door on them. She waited there and listened with a hammering heart as they discussed getting the social worker out there to talk to her, not wanting to deal with her “crazy little girl nonsense”. She sat with her back against the door and pulled her knees to her chest, terrified.

After a moment she spotted a flash of movement in the darkness. She said, “Trust me.”

Dirk came and sat next to her. He held her hand.

“Just trust me,” she said again. “I’ve got this.”

* * *

The social worker appeared on the doorstep of the empty house within the hour, clearly called from her home. In a pair of pajama pants and a slightly tattered t shirt for a charity drive, she strode up the sidewalk and exchanged greetings with the police officers.

“I hadn’t hoped you would find her quite so quick,” she said before knocking. One of the officers pointed out the doorbell, but the woman laughed them off.

“We don’t have to do this,” Dirk implored even as Roxy stood. “We could go out the back. Nepeta would put us up for a bit, I bet.”

“You can if you want,” Roxy said, nerves making her sharper than she’d usually like. “I know you don’t like people, but if you want to be with me, you’re going to have to deal with them at least until I turn 18. Now, excuse me.”

Dirk moved, scurrying off into the dark somewhere. Roxy took a moment to breathe, hoping almost beyond hope that he hadn’t escaped the house altogether, and then opened the door. Sure enough, it was the same woman from before.

“Hello, Roxy,” she smiled. “My name is Ms. Pentri. I hear you have a couple demands before I can place you with another family.”

“I have to take Dirk,” she said. “I’m all he has and he’s my best friend.”

“She keeps saying that,” the officer that refused to talk directly to Roxy before said. “We haven’t seen anyone else.”

“He’s in here,” Roxy said. “He just doesn’t like _assholes_.”

“You’ve got an awful mouth for a little girl.”

“You’ve got a perfect attitude for an _asshole_ ,” she bit back.

“Alright,” Ms. Pentri said firmly and graced her charge with a smile. “I’ll go in to meet him, hmm? Get the whole story. I just want to help you, Roxy.”

“Leave the cops out here,” she said, eyeing them warily.

“Of course,” the woman agreed easily. Roxy took a breath and stepped back to allow the social worker into the darkened house, closing the door behind them. Roxy finally hit the lights and then went to make sure the curtains were drawn. “This looks like a lovely home.”

“I had to teach Dirk to clean it,” Roxy said, figuring honesty was the best policy at this point. In for a penny, in for a pound, after all. “He was dropped off here and abandoned years ago, but the bills are still paid, I guess? Nothing gets shut off, anyway... It’s so weird, but it works? Or it works now. Dirk was really bad off when I found him.”

“He’s been living here alone?” Ms. Pentri clarified. Roxy nodded and took a seat on the couch. She fidgeted until Ms. Pentri joined her on the couch with a kind, encouraging smile. Roxy felt like she could trust the woman, but she’d been betrayed enough times to be made wary of even the kindest of souls.

“I found some paperwork when I cleaned up,” Roxy said. “He’s a foster kid like me, but no one ever checks on him. He says all he remembers is being brought home and ditched, but his memory is kiiiiinda iffy.”

“How long ago?” she wanted to know. This was unheard of - no child should have been forgotten to the point Roxy was describing.

“Long enough,” Dirk said, startling the woman.

“That’s Dirk,” Roxy said quickly, turning to look towards the kitchen door. He was staring into the room flatly, practicing the dumb deadpan he picked up from his superstar hero Dane whats-his-name. His fingers were white where they clutched at the doorway, betraying his anxiety. “He doesn’t know how to act like a real boy yet because he’s still like… twenty five percent wooden puppet. Which makes me the blue fairy, which is cool because you know, magic. And she’s pretty.”

“That’s Roxy,” Dirk mocked. His eyes slid over to her and his gaze warmed against his will. “She doesn’t know how to act like a real girl because all she wants to be is a wizard.”

“Hell yes,” she said. “Wizards are kickass.”

“Children,” Ms. Pentri said, somehow managing to call the both of them to order easily.

“I can’t go without Dirk,” Roxy insisted, getting up to go stand by him. Dirk hesitantly took her hand and she smiled reassuringly at him.

“I can’t promise to find someplace for the two of you together tonight,” Ms. Pentri cautioned. “Most people that take short term placements will only take in one at a time. But I promise the both of you that I’ll find you a home where you can be together.”


	2. Terms of Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxy and Dirk aren't happy to be apart and Ms. Pentri is just struggling to figure out what to do.

The click of the light switch was loud in the silence blanketing the house. The bathroom, now illuminated by a singular incandescent bulb that flickered uncomfortably, couldn’t be less inviting if it contained an actual torture dungeon. Roxy sighed, shuffling her bare feet, before giving in and entering the room. Though she resolved to be quick, she found herself distracted by the mirror over the sink. Frowning, she leaned over the sink on tip toes to peer at her face closer.

Her hair was still a mess from tossing and turning, plastered to her cheek on one side and sticking up in the back. Her eyes were still a bit crusty with sleep; coupled with the dark circles under her eyes it was all too easy to see she wasn’t feeling her best. Huffing in frustration she poked at a suspiciously red spot on her left cheek and hoped she wasn’t going to break out.

Dejectedly, she quickly moved to relieve herself before returning to the sink to wash her hands and, after a moment’s hesitation, her face. She regretfully forwent brushing her teeth when she realized she’d left her brush at her old home. After a moment, she realized the same could be said for her hair brush, so she settled for finger combing the mess into a semblance of submission. That done, she took a moment to take in her appearance once more.

She struck a pose and an odd homesickness rose up in her chest, choking her. She blinked her tears away and pushed all her memories of posing in the mirror with Dirk out of her mind.

Roxy darted back to her designated room for a change of clothes, feeling oddly vulnerable in her sleep shorts and threadbare shirt. She selected one of her smaller shirts to go under her pink and purple cat hoodie, embarrassed by her figure.

She was patting down her hoodie and making sure her chest wasn’t visible when there was a knock on the door. Turning, she was about to call out an invitation to enter when the door was already opening. She tried her best not to feel defensive and to keep her flinch subtle, schooling her face into a beguiling facade of cheerful openness.

“Oh, you’re already awake!” her new foster mother greeted her with a smile. “Well good morning! I made some eggs and toast. Want to join me in the kitchen?”

Swallowing heavily, she gave the woman her best shy smile, feeling like she was the world’s best actor. “Would it be too much trouble if I ate in here?”

“Oh, not at all,” the woman waved away her concerns. “After the night you had, I’m sure you’re shaken up, you poor thing.”

“I am, a bit,” Roxy confessed. The very picture of a shy, innocent, perfectly behaved girl, she twisted her hands behind her back and widened her eyes. “Do you know when I’ll see Ms. Pentri again?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, but she’ll be around. Let’s not think about that now, honey. Why don’t you come along and get your plate?”

Roxy did as she was bid, heart sinking.

* * *

Dirk was certain he’d never been so uncomfortable in his entire life. Which was saying something, since he’d been through some mightily uncomfortable things in his short life.

He just had no idea what to do with so many strangers all at once.

Ms. Pentri shuttled him off to a temporary foster home complete with a mother, father, biological son, and _three_ other foster children. He was convinced that he would be driven insane or die of a heart attack long before he ever saw Roxy again.

On the first day, he discovered a little nook in the basement and it had been his saving grace ever since. Abandoning the bed that was set up for him in one of his foster sibling’s rooms, he spent all of his time hidden, emerging only when called explicitly. It was hot and dark, tucked behind the water heater under the stairs, but it was quiet and alone and _his_. He was lucky, he mused as he drew patterns unseen in the dust, convinced spiders were probably nesting in his hair at that precise moment. No one seemed very eager to bother him.

At night when he was absolutely convinced that everyone had gone to sleep for the night, Dirk crept out of his space and into the kitchen. The food he took was never easily missed, settling on taking a few crackers from an already opened pack and perhaps scraping a bit of peanut butter from an already opened jar. He had a ziplock bag that he chanced sneaking from a pack that he kept his spoils in. It was the second, actually. The first had been placed too close to the heater and had melted. As desperate as he felt, he wouldn’t resort to trying to eat the food caked in melted plastic… yet, anyway.

His second order of nightly business was to crack open the laptop that belonged to his foster father. It was password protected, but the password was just the name of his recently passed dog and the date of his birthday. It was easy enough to guess, especially since he wasn’t locked out after too many incorrect attempts.

Dirk had earned a small cult following on his variety of blogs that ranged from electronic music to the films of Dane Strider to puppets. He was aloof and barely ever interacted with anyone outside of commissions for shittily drawn porn that helped fund his independent lifestyle that was… over now, actually.

He tried not to think about it too much.

* * *

–- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] –-

TT: I miss you.

–- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] –-

* * *

\--timaeusTestified [TT]  began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]\-- 

TT: Hello, Crocker.

GG: Dirk! I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon!

GG: Especially since I haven’t heard from Roxy…

GG: What happened?

TT: You know how it is when you’re world class debutantes. The demand is high for Roxy. She’s got bitches hanging off of her left and right.

GG: Unlike you? :B

TT: God, yes. Roxy can keep all of the bitches.

GG: I’m sure she’s delighted!

TT: You bet your ass she is.

GG: Well, could you tell her that I’d like to talk to her?

GG: I mean, unless she’s got more important things to do…

TT: There’s nothing more important to her than keeping up with her friends.

TT: Things are just really complicated right now.

GG: It feels like

GG: …

TT: She’s not ignoring you. I haven’t even been in contact with her right now.

GG: Aren’t the two of you together.

TT: There was a tiny change of plans and we were both shunted to new foster homes.

TT: Not for long.

GG: Why would they just separate you?

GG: Did something happen?

TT: Everything’s under control.

GG: B:

TT: That’s not how emoticons work.

GG: I wish you both lived in Washington! You could come and live with me.

GG: It would be a lot less lonely, I bet.

TT: I wish we could too.

TT: But we can make far fetched but comforting plans later.

TT: It’s way past your bedtime, missy.

GG: I’d rather stay up talking.

TT: Me too.

TT: But you have school in the morning.

GG: What about you? Did they take you out of school?

TT: For a bit.

GG: Lucky!

TT: I know. I have all the luck in the entire damn world.

GG: Share a little with the rest of us, you goober.

TT: Goober.

TT: I can’t abide by this insult.

TT: Goodnight, Crocker.

GG: Goodnight, Dirk.

\--timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering  gutsyGumshoe [GG]\--

* * *

Turning over and shoving her face into her pillowed, Roxy was forced to conclude that nights were the absolute _worst_. Her foster mother imposed a _stupid_ , arbitrary bedtime, but Roxy’s body hadn’t gotten the memo, leaving her to toss and turn as she stewed in her own dark thoughts.

She should have never trusted anyone, especially an adult that thought she knew what was best for them and ended up just ruining everything. She kicked herself for the mistake and miserably regretted that she’d dragged Dirk into it as well.

Roxy kicked off her blanket and sat up, wiping at her face with trembling hands. It wasn’t terribly warm, but the blanket was stifling and she was nearly sweating through her pajamas. She thought of turning on the light, but didn’t want to risk her foster mother’s ire in case she wandered by (or was watching) and saw the light under the door.

She shifted restlessly as her mind built a daydream (nightdream?) of an ideal world where she bust out of her foster prison and hunted down Dirk. They could live life on the run. Dirk always said he would like to live further south, she thought, smiling wistfully.

Even with her attempts at self distraction, the itch would not be denied.

She’d resisted as long as she could. Throwing her legs over the edge of her bed, she stood and crossed the room to where her backpack was stored in the back of the closet. Tossing a cautious glance at the door, she slide into the closet to sit beside her bag, eyes warily trained on the door despite the low light.

From her bag she extracted an almost full bottle of vodka that she had secreted from her previous foster home before being officially extracted. Her hands shook, making the cap a much harder obstacle than it had any right to be, but she persevered.

The first sip burned so _good_. It was comparable to the ambrosia of the gods.

The second sip was guilt.

Still, guilt was easy enough to live with. She’d been doing it most of her life anyway.

* * *

“Where’s Dirk?” Roxy cried, thundering down the stairs and rounding into the living room without a single care for propriety. She spotted her case worker on the couch, just about to sip her glass of water graciously provided by Roxy’s temporary foster mother. The woman hurriedly placed her glass down and patted the seat beside her, but Roxy resisted the kindness and remained standing.

Ms. Pentri sighed and said, “He’s at a nearby foster home. I’ve been looking into a few long-term options.”

“You promised that me and Dirk would be together.”

“A promise I fully intend on delivering,” she said firmly. “Whatever happens, no matter how long it takes, you will be reunited with your friend.”

Roxy swallowed hard though it was harder than ever to beat back the thoughts that cried out that the case worker didn’t give a damn if she ever saw Dirk again.

“Right,” she said instead. Her eyes cut to the side to avoid the firm and compassionate gaze of Ms. Pentri. “Sorry, I uh… Forgot something upstairs.”

Darting up the stairs helped conceal the tears stubbornly gathering in her eyes, but refusing to fall.

She was all too convinced she would never see Dirk again.

* * *

“Becca,” Grace called. Ms. Pentri stepped inside when she held the door open invitingly. The woman’s biological daughter appeared promptly. “Could you go grab Dirk for us? Tell him Ms. Pentri is here to ask him a few questions.”

“I don’t know where he is,” she said, clearly affronted at being asked to do something so beneath her. “Ask Charlie.”

Grace sighed and looked at the case worker apologetically, who only smiled in commiseration. She gestured towards the living room and said, “Please take a seat. I’ll be right back with Dirk.”

She turned, intending on searching the house top to bottom for her wayward charge, but to her surprise he was already approaching, eyes wide and wary. She smiled at him, trying to soothe him, though it failed like every time before. “Oh, Dirk! Come sit with Ms. Pentri and I. She has some questions.”

Dirk seemed to ignore her, edging around her to enter the living room without any special acknowledgment beyond a hard flinch when she sighed at his lack of regard. He looked at Ms. Pentri and demanded, “What do you want?”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Grace suggested. Dirk flinched again, but did as he was bid, sitting on the opposite side of the couch and looking around mistrustfully.

“I’m sorry to just barge in,” Ms. Pentri said, smiling awkwardly. Dirk stared at her silently, the moment stretching on into near awkward levels. “Well then, I’ve been working to figure out exactly, uhm… who you are...”

“...my name is Dirk,” he said unsurely.

“Oh, I know! But beyond that, I don’t know anything else. Do you remember your surname?”

Dirk stared at her.

Ms. Pentri’s smile took on a slightly strained quality; this clearly would not be an easy task.

* * *

Claire Pentri was nothing if not determined, but as days stretched into a week, she found herself more and more frustrated.

“There are no files,” she found herself complaining while gesticulating furiously with a set of chopsticks. She was perched on the edge of the truck bed while her partner nodded sympathetically, though she was more than a little distracted trying to get her own set of chopsticks to cooperate in her clumsy left hand.

She sighed after a moment and relented, abandoning the frustrating things in the paper bag their food had been delivered in and taking up a fork in her right prosthetic. It took another moment to notice Claire had gone entirely silent. Looking over, Maya saw that she was staring despondently into her styrofoam bowl of shrimp and rice.

“Hey, don’t look like that,” she chided. “You’re going to figure this out. You’re the most intelligent person I know. The kids are lucky to have you.”

“They’re the opposite of lucky,” Claire said gloomily. “They’ve spent their entire lives slipping through the cracks and being passed off as another person’s problem. I don’t understand how no adult looked at them before now and saw that they needed help. I can’t believe no one knew about Dirk at all.”

“Yeah, that does seem really sketchy,” she agreed. “But now he has you to look out for him.”

“I just don’t understand…”

Maya set her own rice bowl aside and scooted closer to Claire, wrapping her arm around her shoulders and kissing her just above her ear. Their conversation might have died out, but cuddling in the back of a mail truck seemed like the perfect way to spend their respective lunch breaks.

* * *

Roxy’s case, as it happened, was a lot easier to crack. There were a number of Lalondes, though they were all in New York, which was far, far from her own district in Pennsylvania. It wasn’t strictly within the purview of her duties, but she thought the best place to start would be tracking down where in the world Roxy had come from and so she made a number of inquiries.

Pieced together, it made a sad picture. From her birth mother, she had been adopted with her twin by a younger couple with money to spend on such things. After moving from New York to Pennsylvania, the relationship fell apart and the children were put into foster care. The two children immediately went their separate ways. Roxy stayed with her first home for a few years until being passed on with the foster family citing Roxy’s overabundance of energy as the cause.

Understandable, Ms. Pentri thought sadly. Older families weren’t as suited to young children.

From there, Roxy’s history read like a bad joke. She’d scarcely stayed in the same home for more than a few months at a time until she had come upon her previous family. She stayed with them for years and Ms. Pentri could only conclude that it had been Dirk that kept her struggling to stay with her abusers.

It was only a frustrated whim that had her trying to track down Roxy’s twin. Something about the easy way in which they fell in step at every turn…

Dirk Strider.

Well that made everything simpler.

* * *

“When is Dirk getting here?” Roxy asked, bouncing in the plastic chair as if her excitement could not be contained in a simple mortal vessel. She looked around as if the waiting room would suddenly produce her friend. Ms. Pentri smiled at her and repeated for the umpteenth time that Dirk’s foster mother was running a little behind, but she promised they would get lunch afterward.

It took another fifteen or so minutes before Grace bustled in, ushering an overwhelmed Dirk in before her. Ms. Pentri couldn’t get a greeting in before Roxy was rocketing out of her seat and towards Dirk to lock him in what appeared to be a bone crushing hug.

“Oh!” Grace huffed, laughing. She looked to the social worker, who drifted over at a more sedate pace. “I guess she missed him, then!”

“You have no idea,” Ms. Pentri sighed.

“I missed you,” Roxy whispered to him as he clung back just as desperately.

“I missed you, too,” he admitted, voice oddly heavy. Roxy peeked at his face and then it was all she could do to hug him even tighter at the sight of the tears gathering in the edge of his clenched eyes.

“They took my blood already,” she explained when her arm gave a twinge of protest. “Dirk, they think you’re my _brother._ ”

“You might be my _sister_.”

The two separated to grin at each other, all hints of stress disappearing for a moment as they basked in mutual hope and amazement.

It was moments like this that made the job worth it, Ms. Pentri concluded.

* * *

Roxy went back into the exam room with Dirk after much pleading. It was only the promise of soothing Dirk’s frazzled nerves that had Ms. Pentri relenting.

Dirk stared at the needle with no small amount of trepidation. The nurse tried to make small talk when she first entered, but Dirk’s voice was stuck somewhere deep in his chest and he couldn’t find it in him to search for it.

“Dirky,” Roxy called, half singing the frankly disrespectful nickname. “You’re ignoring me.”

Dirk tore his eyes away from the nurse’s preparations to look at his could-be sister. He raised a brow at her in silent question.

“I was asking what you thought they would do with the extra blood,” she reiterated. Her face was propped up in both hands as she leaned on the exam table, paper crinkling under her elbows whenever she shifted. “Like, they probably only need a little for the test. Look at some cells like ‘Yup, these kids are not just brother and sister, but the _best_ brother and sister’ and ‘Wow, these kids are like perfectly twins it’s so amazing someone call Guinness.”

Dirk found his voice to ask, “Beer?”

“No, like the world record people. Right? It’s Guinness, isn’t it?”

“One ‘n’ for the beer and two for the records,” the nurse supplied.

“See, Dirk?” Roxy grinned and Dirk was both ridiculously charmed by how much he loved his best friend and afraid of that awful, terrible needle. “Anyway, I think they’re going to be so impressed with our top notch blood that they clone us.”

“Vampires,” he said and Roxy nodded, expression turning serious.

“Yeah, but they’re only going to take a little bit,” she explained. Her shirt sleeve was summarily rolled up to expose her band-aid as if it would prove her point. “Not enough for a meal.”

“Appetizer platter,” he supplied. “Like wine tasting.”

“Ohhh… You could be onto something there.”

The conversation carried them through the blood withdrawal. The nurse allowed Dirk to pick his own band-aid and though Roxy begged him to get the Hello Kitty one (“Twinsies, Dirk!”), he selected the Muppets themed option.

Emotionally exhausted and already bruising from the blood extraction, the two trotted back to the waiting room where Ms. Pentri and Grace were waiting to take them to Burger King. Roxy opted for a crown, while Dirk regulated himself to royal menace and stole her fries.

* * *

Ms. Pentri received the results a week later. Roxy Lalonde and Dirk Strider were twins.


	3. First Contact pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ms. Pentri gets in contact with a Lalonde. It just happens to not be the Lalonde she intended on contacting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter count has gone up as the third chapter has proven to be LONG AS HELL. I figured I would rather break it in two to post it, as editing is a lengthy process.

It wasn’t, strictly speaking, proper to contact the family that gave up a child and ask them if, perhaps, they’d changed their minds, but it was probably the best chance Ms. Pentri had for the children in her care. If it blew up in her face there could be disastrous consequences for her own career given the notoriety of the family she was trying to contact. She was resolute though – the possibility of getting Dirk and Roxy to a family that could care for their… unique needs was more important.

Lalonde, as it happened, was a very recognizable name. She was well familiar with the award winning author, Rosa Lalonde, through Roxy if nothing else. The girl had been very careful to scoop up everything she had written by the woman when she escaped her previous foster home.

But that wasn’t her only connection to the name Lalonde, tenuous as it was. In fact, her personal idol was the indubitably intelligent Ruth Lalonde. After seeing her speak several times at her own Alma mater and now knowing there was a relation between the woman and one of her charges, Ms. Pentri set out to do her research.

She a charitable person to be sure. Relatively unknown outside of her niche in academia, it was difficult to get a read on her, but not impossible. She found information on how Ruth had took custody of all of her siblings following the death of their mother and the disappearance of their father. Contacting an old friend in their neck of the woods turned up information about two younger half siblings that Ruth had also taken in. An interview with Rosa Lalonde explained the decision as a decree of Ruth’s wherein all of their wayward siblings would be welcomed with open arms.

It was more than Ms. Pentri could have hoped for. She wasn’t sure of the exact relation, but resolved to try.

* * *

“Dr. Lalonde,” Calliope called, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her slacks. She was intensely uncomfortable with the press of inebriated youth around her. Her friend and boss perked up and turned, cup sloshing dangerously. Miraculously, she avoided spilling a drop. That was a talent of hers. “This isn’t exactly a place one would expect to find a doctor that’s set to give a several hour long lecture tomorrow.”

“Hey,” Ruth drawled and tried to wave her closer. “You look so cute, done up in your suit.”

“Dr. Lalonde,” Calliope sighed as Ruth laughed at her own rhyming. “We really should get you back to the hotel.”

“Spoilsport,” she jeered before turning back to the group she’d been entertaining. Loudly, she announced, “I’m sorry everyone, but I have to go. Callie’s the boss and I have _work_ in the morning.”

The group bemoaned her departure as Calliope took in the demographic, noting Ruth was entirely too old to be swanning off into the nearest frat party intent of reliving the glory days. Not that she’d had many, busy as she was with her family. Wordlessly, she ushered her boss into the chill of the night.

Ruth hummed happily as they meandered through campus, taking in the sights with glittering pink eyes. It could have been worse, Calliope told herself. Really, Ruth seemed a lot happier when she was buzzed.

It was an excuse and she  _knew_ it.

“I love how… shiny the buildings are,” Ruth said after a moment, taking a hand from her lab coat and waving it towards the newly constructed student center. “This is good. This is… you know?”

“It’s where you want to be,” Calliope said, opting to look at her boss instead. “You really just want to stay in academia, don’t you?”

“I’m better at it,” Ruth said, seeming to turn introspective. “I’m not so good with the practical. People are… messy.”

“You picked an odd field then,” she noted. “Neuroscience is kind of all about people. Maybe you should have gone into mathematics.”

“Neuroscience is about brains, not people,” Ruth said, bizarrely omitting the fact that personhood itself came from the brain. “And physics came first, anyway.”

“You should work on another doctorate,” Calliope said, finally cracking a smile. “You seem like you’re getting bored.”

Ruth laughed lightheartedly and told her, “Well, I  _have_ been dabbling a lot in chemistry and biology. Might as well fill out those fields too.”

“Might as well,” Calliope agreed, happy to hear it. She linked arms with Ruth and then nothing would do but to try and perfect the Wizard of Oz walk on their way back to the hotel.

It was easy to herd Ruth into the room, remind her to brush her teeth, and watch her fall into bed, already mostly asleep. Hesitating over her a moment – should she move Ruth into the recovery position just in case? Her worst fear was waking to find Ruth had choked on her own vomit sometime in the night – gave Ruth enough time to groan and  tell her assistant to find elsewhere to roost because she didn’t need a mother hen in her bed.

Blushing, Calliope scurried off to the other side of the room and settled at the desk to answer Ruth’d correspondence. It was late, but sleep was never easy for her. Nights made her… anxious. It had been years since she had any cause to feel that way, but…

Well, it didn’t matter. She refocused on the laptop screen while turning on the desk lamp to chase off the shadows.

The emails were all standard; the university wanted updates and other universities wanted to book lectures. There was another email confirming the details of Ruth’s TED talk which Calliope made sure to reply with an affirmative before forwarding the conversation to her private email.

(It would be going into the scrapbook Calliope was compiling of Ruth’s career highlights. It would be a wonderful Christmas present knowing how sentimental the doctor could be at times..)

There was one email from the secretary of the science department from their home university. She opened it and scanned the contents curiously before glancing over her shoulder at Ruth. She would be no help. Rosa, however, was a great deal easier to contact.

One text and less than three minutes later, Calliope’s phone began buzzing urgently. She answered, but couldn’t even get a greeting out before Rosa was already demanding answers.

“Why would the university be emailing you about our family?” she asked, voice harsh. Knowing the woman as well as Calliope did, she didn’t take it personally. Without waiting for a response, Rosa continued, “No social worker has any right to be involving Ruth’s employer in any of our family business and we’ve heard _nothing_ from Rose and Dave’s case worker lately. It’s a gross invasion of-”

There was a noise and then another voice, deep and amused, was saying, “I’m sorry, but Rosa Lalonde is being a huge grump and cannot receive calls at the moment. You’ll have to settle for me if you like your head where it is.”

“Portia, hello!” Calliope greeted, cheered. She and Rosa’s girlfriend had a cordial relationship and it was a great deal safer talking to her than it was Rosa when family was on the line. “Please tell Rosa that it’s not about Rose or Dave. They said it was a social worker in Pennsylvania that called.”

“I’ll let her know,” Portia promised. “One moment.”

After relaying the information, Rosa was apparently deemed calm enough for conversation and the phone was returned to her person.

“What exactly did they say?” Rosa asked. “Spare no detail.”

“There aren’t really any details,” Calliope said apologetically. “Just that a… Ms. Pentri would appreciate a call back about a possible relation to two of her foster children. I can forward you the email, if you’d like.”

“Thank you, yes,” Rosa said. “I’ll look into it. No reason to worry Ruth right now.

Calliope peeked over her shoulder at the woman in question and found herself tiredly agreeing.

* * *

Rosa was displeased. If there were an exact antonym, a true polar opposite for the word pleased, that would aptly describe her mood, she thought, entirely forgetting that there was. She took a deep breath and leaned forward to rest her head on the steering wheel. Noting that her hands were shaking in poorly concealed fury, she wondered at her decision to enter a moving vehicle with the intent of operating it in her emotional condition. Not that it was truly a conscious decision as much as it was a pressing need to _get out_ because mansion or not, the news she’d received was too much, too large to comprehend and she needed to step back and breathe and think before she could consider it.

There was one person she could count on for perspective. She pulled her phone from her pocket and found the number silently.

“Lalonde! You utter bitch!” her dubiously entitled friend crowed when she answered. “I’m in the middle of a match. Is this that fucking important?”

“Yes,” Rosa said, impatiently. “Now get the fuck off and listen to me bitch.”

“ _Get off_?”

“Don’t make this fucking weird,” Rosa ordered.

“Fine. Where are you? Just come over.”

Rosa leaned back with a smile finally on her face. She turned the key with her free hand, car growling to life. More than happy to escape the house, she began maneuvering her car one-handedly.

“Thanks, V. I’ll see you in a bit.”

It took fifteen minutes to make it to V’s duplex on a good day. This was not a good day. It took eleven and some rather loose considerations of traffic laws. Parking on the street, she hopped out of her car and critically eyed the lovely home with the perfect garden. Clearly the other half of the duplex was still being a meek bitch and cleaning up after her homewrecking friend.

She let herself in rather than waiting for V to pull herself from her game. She circled the home, hopping their small fence easily enough, to the sliding back door. Jostling it the right way yielded an easy entry.

Rosa threw her keys on the kitchen counter before turning to properly lock up behind her. Entrance secured, she selected two of the many, _many_ adult beverages in the fridge before ascending to the second floor where she found the bedroom door open and her friend sprawled across her king sized bed. She didn’t seem aware of Rosa’s approach.

“I’m shocked,” Rosa drawled, leaning against the door frame. “Shocked to death. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you play without screaming profanities at all of the other children playing with you.”

“Fuck off, bitch,” she grunted and then grudgingly added, “I’m customizing my character. What do you want?”

“Fuck,” she said emphatically and offered one of her selections to her best friend. After she took it, Rosa plopped on an open expanse of bed and stared at the wall as she mechanically opened her drink. “I’ve had… a hell of a day, honestly. Another of those fucking Lalonde bitches fell into bed with my shit father and I have yet _another_ pair of half siblings.”

V laughed, as expected. She found the telenovela-esque drama endlessly amusing, the bitch.

“You’d think all of them would have gotten the message by now, wouldn’t you? When’s the bitch due?”

Rosa made a show of looking at her bare wrist as if contemplating a watch. With mock casuality, she said, “Oh, I suppose about fourteen years ago.”

_That_ gave V pause. She froze for a moment before saving her game and turning it off. She threw the controller god knows where and then turned to face Rosa. She took up her drink and opened it. She finished it in a good two minutes and then fetched two more bottles from her bedside mini-fridge. Giving the other to Rosa, she said, “Alright, I’m ready. Lay it on me.”

Rosa finished her own drink. “Gladly.”

* * *

The next morning found Rosa sitting at her writing desk with her hands splayed over the wooden surface. Rose had already been dropped off at school under a facade of normalcy that, frankly, Rosa believed should be award winning. Perhaps she would liberate one of Dane’s many, many trophies for her own private commendation. He actively tried to lose when given the opportunity, so he would never miss one or two. It was the perfect crime. Or would be, if Ruth didn’t keep such a prideful account of all of his achievements.

The thought of Ruth, however brief, was enough to bring on the urge to indulge in one of Ruth’s favorite soothers. The fridge was, as always, well stocked with a selection that would rival many bars, but Rosa was wary about dipping her toe in that particular well of sin again. She’d had her brush with Lalondian alcoholism and she was happy to leave that in the past.

She banished those thoughts, but it still wasn’t easy to contemplate her current task, not with her phone sitting before her, number already dialed. This was probably one of the most daunting calls she would make in her life, which was a feat considering she’d acted as the family call center following the scandalous implosion that was Derek and Dave’s abuse case.

“Fuck this,” she mumbled and picked the phone up, pressing dial quickly to give herself no time to reconsider or overthink. With her free hand, she pulled over her laptop and opened a blank document that quickly covered her most recent manuscript.

“Hello, this is Claire Pentri,” a voice answered, cheerily.

“Hello,” Rosa said, startled even though she really shouldn’t have been. Of _course_ the case worker would answer her phone. “Hello, sorry. My name is Rosa. You contacted my older sister, Ruth, about a couple of children in your care.”

“Oh, yes!” she confirmed, voice surprised. “Yes, a set of twins.”

“We want them,” Rosa blurted out. In truth, she had only been planning to set up a meeting and to get more information on the children that she could take to her siblings and discuss things at length. It was rational, but she was feeling anything but. She knew that it was the right thing to do and the thought of her young siblings wasting away in the foster system in _Pennsylvania_ burned her up inside.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, she rushed to fill the awkward silence, “I understand it’s a process and there are a number of hoops to jump through before we can take custody, but I am prepared to use every tool at my disposal and every connection I have to help the children.”

“I’m delighted to hear that,” Mrs. Pentri said, a touch of humor in her voice. “But let’s start with your name first, shall we?”

“Oh! Rosa Lalonde,” she answered, embarrassed.

“The writer?” the case worker clarified, something odd about her tone.

Rosa made a sound of surprise. Writers weren’t usually very well known these days. She said, “Yes, actually. You’ve heard of me?”

“Ah, I haven’t read your works,” she confessed apologetically. “But Roxy, one of the children I emailed about, has been toting around a small collection of your works. She seems quite proud of it and cites you as her favorite author.”

“Oh,” Rosa muttered. She was glad there was no one else around to witness how her face brightened into a pleased grin, a blush coloring her cheeks. Secretly, she was very, _very_ pleased, delighted even. “I see… Could you, ah… Could you tell me more about the kids? I spoke briefly with their birth mother earlier today, but she didn’t have anything constructive to offer.”

She had bitched Rosa out for bothering her with something so trivial, though. Rosa chose not to share that with the case worker.

“Well,” she hedged. “I know it was terribly improper for me to reach out to Ms. Lalonde like I did. I just wanted to give the children every opportunity I could. Do you understand?”

“Absolutely,” Rosa agreed. “And I know there’s not a lot you can tell a relative stranger over the phone, but… Please, even just their names.”

There was a moment of contemplative hesitation before Ms. Pentri was explaining, “They’re twins – a boy and a girl. The girl’s name is Roxy Lalonde and the boy’s is Dirk Strider. They’ve recently come into my care – very recently, in fact – after some reports of, ah… signs of neglect in Roxy’s case. Her case was reassigned to me following her previous case worker’s sudden departure from our department. She was actually the one to lead me to Dirk, who… well...”

The pause eventually stretched uncomfortably long as the case worker struggled for words. Rosa could do naught else but imagine the absolute worst. Frightened of what the answer might be, she asked, “Is it… bad?”

“Well,” she answered, still sounding very troubled. “It isn’t _good._ ”

* * *

After exchanging goodbyes and receiving a promise that any further details would be emailed to her, Rosa elected to move her pity party of one to the living room. The move was a good decision, she found, as she had finally broke and now was happily attended to by a bottle of tequila while the infamous Jaspers in his dapper little suit trotted over.

“You’re lovely,” she told him as he meandered within petting range. “Absolutely lovely and I’m sorry that Rose keeps dressing you up in those horribly uncomfortable things. I’ve been in too many suits to wish it upon my worst enemy.”

She sighed and leaned back after snatching the remote from the coffee table. Turning on the television yielded _Keeping up with the Kardashians_. It was perfect background noise, she discovered as she stared at it blankly, mind a million miles away. She couldn’t fathom a child that had been left alone for years, couldn’t conceptualize a way that an entire human being slipped through the cracks and was lost for _years_.

Abruptly, she was overcome. Shooing Jaspers away, she set her bottle down on the table jarringly hard and collapsed in on herself, slumping forward until her head was almost level with her knees. She couldn’t even imagine how hard this would be, what with a child used to abuse and one that was only a few human connections away from being _feral_.

She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t be alone with her thoughts. She felt weak, but she had to have some backup in this.

Opening her contacts in her phone yielded a number of options and she considered them all as her stress slowly mounted, hating that this fell to her. For a long moment, she stared at Ruth’s name. She’d been the one to make the oath to give a home to any unwanted Strider-Lalonde lost souls. That was _her_ promise.

But Rosa knew deep down that Ruth’s alcoholism was worsening, knew she couldn’t entrust this to someone that in all honesty probably hadn’t been sober all month.

She considered Derek’s name next. He was her twin and knew her mind intimately, but he wasn’t quite who she wanted to talk to. Derek was intense, all action all the time and this would likely be something he couldn’t just… rush. It was delicate and he was everything but.

Hesitating so long, her phone’s screen went black again.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself. “Fuck and shit and damnation.”

Just before she threw her phone in frustration, it began ringing. The caller ID read Dane Strider.

Taking a deep breath, she sat up and tried to mentally compose herself. Answering, she set it to speakerphone so she could rest the phone on the arm of the couch and take up her bottle again. Jaspers took his chance and jumped into her lap again, purring loudly.

“Good morning, baby brother,” she greeted coolly, voice perfectly composed as if she hadn’t just been going through a bit of a crisis over an epic tale of negligence and child abuse.

“Good morning, yourself,” he returned. “Listen, I’m going to cut off the snark before you even start because I’m between meetings and have like, fifteen minutes and if I let you get going we won’t be done before the fucking sun sets.”

“Spoilsport,” she booed. “You never let me have any fun anymore.”

“Haha,” he said, monotone. “Anyway, you know how I’m Calliope’s favorite, right?”

“I know no such thing,” Rosa said, studying her nails dispassionately. “I’m fairly convinced that _Ruth_ is her favorite, but I’m willing to entertain your delusions to see where you’re going with this flight of fancy.”

“None of that now,” he chided. She heard someone else talking to Dane in the background, but couldn’t make out the exact words. She did, however, catch his response (“You don’t need me to hold your hand through _every_ scene.”).

“Don’t be mean to your hapless peons,” she scolded lightly.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he said. “I was chatting with Calliope like I usually do and she told me that there’s a social worker snooping around the brats again. Is everything okay with Bro and Dave?”

“As far as I know,” Rosa said, leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Why were you talking to Calliope?”

“You know how it is.”

“No, Dane, I don’t.”

He sighed and was quiet for a moment before admitting, “Since she’s on my coast of the world for once, Ruth and I were going to grab lunch. Ruth, uh… slept in, so Calliope and I went out on our own. You know she’s family like that and I thought she needed some time away from Ruth.”

“Goddamn it, Ruth,” Rosa cursed softly, rubbing at her temple. She sighed. “No, the issue wasn’t with Bro and Dave or even Rose. The social worker found another set of our half-siblings and was wondering if we would be interested in taking them in, as she’s been struggling to find them a home together with their… unique needs.”

“ _More_ siblings?” Dane asked. “Fuck, Daddy Dearest needs a vasectomy. Think I could find a doctor to do it against his will if I offer to pay enough?”

“Surely,” Rosa said. “You could save your money, though, as there is no shortage of people that would do the job for free.” In particular, she thought of her twin and his intense and everlasting hatred for their father. “But it wouldn’t do much good just now,” she said. “They’re a bit older than Rose and Dave.”

After a long pause, Dane said, “He was cheating on Mom.”

“Does that surprise you? I would be surprised if it did,” she said. “But, well. I already told the social worker that we wanted to take them in. She wants to arrange a get together with the kids to see if it’s a good fit. I, uh, probably should have run it past Ruth first.”

“It _is_ her house. But she’d be over the moon to have more kids around, you know that,” he told her. To someone else, he said, “Get me the reddest pen we have. This scene is a fucking _wreck_.”

“This is a huge decision.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Who else is in the know?”

“At present count… myself, the case worker, and your illustrious person, of course.”

“No shit? You’re going to go meet them all by yourself?” he asked, attention firmly back on his sister. “That’s brave as shit.”

“Well, it’s not what I would prefer,” she admitted.

“Right,” he said. “Let me get it straight. You don’t want Ruth there because of… reasons… What about Bro?”

“Do you think he would be a good choice?” she asked.

Dane was silent.

“Me neither.”

“Well. Fuck.”

“Dane, I...” Rosa had to take a swig from her bottle to wet her suddenly dry mouth. “I want them. I want to help them. Ms. Pentri told me about their circumstances and...”

“That bad?” he asked after she lapsed into troubled silence.

“Worse,” she declared with a humorless bark of laughter. “Oh, Dane, whatever you’re thinking it’s worse. So much worse.”

“Lay it on me,” he demanded.

“Well the first one is Roxy,” she explained. “She’s recently been taken from her foster home after it was discovered that her alcoholic foster parents were abusing her for _years_.”

“Motherfuck,” he swore. “They’re twins, right? All of you are twins.”

“Don’t be jealous.”

“Fuck off.” To someone else, he said, “I’ll be there soon. Like, twenty minutes.”

“I’m keeping you,” Rosa said, troubled.

“Damn right,” he agreed. “So we might as well finish the conversation and I can show up fifteen minutes late with Starbucks like a true superstar.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she sighed. Figuring it was better to get it over with all at once like ripping off a band-aid, she launched back into her explanation. “Dirk is the younger one and they didn’t even know his last name until a few days ago because he’d been adopted and abandoned years ago. _Years_ , Dane. He’s been living on his own for years with, reportedly, only Roxy for company.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Dane burst out after a moment, just a hairs breadth from yelling. “Jesus fucking Christ, they just _lost_ a kid? We had social workers up the ass for like ever with Rose and Dave, but when a kid genuinely fucking needs them they just fuck off, don’t they?”

Rosa let Dane’s expletive filled rant wash over her, not trying to understand anything as he just got out all of his second-hand anger. She was glad that someone else at least recognized how truly fucked the entire situation was. It made her anger all the more valid.

Dane winded to a close with, “We’ve gotta get them out of there. I’ll fly out tonight. When’s the meeting?”

“Excuse me?”

‘You’re excused,” Dane said. “You don’t want to go alone and now I’m emotionally invested in this. When’s the meeting?”

“Tomorrow,” Rosa said. “We’re going to be doing lunch, so I’m driving out tomorrow morning. The social worker says that Roxy is actually a fan of my work. It’s… flattering.”

“No shit?” Dane laughed. “Maybe one of them likes my movies?”

“Perish the thought. No one would appreciate that nonsensical trash you call art.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Rosa laughed and so did Dane.

In the quiet moment after their joy faded, she quietly confessed, “I really do hope they like us.”

Rosa Lalonde wasn’t one for showing weakness or a softer side. The world was tough and it was her job to be tougher, if not for her than for the tender hearts around her. It felt odd, but she knew Dane could understand her in ways that not even her twin could, as he bore some of the same pressures of notoriety.

“Honestly, I don’t give a fuck if they like us,” Dane said, almost carelessly. “Fuck, I don’t think I’d like anyone if I were in their shoes. But we’ll be good to them and… I don’t know, provide for them and shit.”

“We’ll keep them safe,” she said and it was a promise. “This won’t be easy. They’re both going to have issues.”

“If we can get Bro in therapy, we can get a couple of kids to talk about their feelings in a safe space,” Dane said, almost confidently. Rosa saw through it in a heartbeat, but chose not to comment. “And I’ll move home to help. Between me, you, and Ruth, I’m sure we can manage.”

“It’s going to bite you in the ass,” she argued. “You can’t exactly work from home.”

“It’ll give me time to pen an autobiography,” he said. “And I’m a filthy rich Hollywood actor, writer, and director. Everything I do comes back to bite me in the ass, so just send me the details.”

* * *

The next time Rosa saw her hot-shot Hollywood superstar brother, he looked exhausted, stepping out of the airport and immediately making his way to the car before anyone else recognized him. His exhaustion was subtle, almost unnoticeable. Had she been anyone else she may have missed it.

He took the passenger seat after tossing his bag into the back seat, the motion more like falling into the car than anything actually premeditated. He pushed his signature glasses up and rubbed his eyes before grunting, “Still driving the clunker, I see.”

“It’s a decent car,” she said and she was right. It was a long standing argument between her and her publishers and Dane. Everyone wanted her to get a new car, something flashy and sleek to match her better. Her practically won out every time.

(There was one incident of Dane purchasing a gaudy sports car and having it dropped off in the Lalonde driveway without a word. Rosa promptly found her signature black lipstick and signed on the hood before forging Dane’s signature with a Sharpie Rose found in the bottom of her backpack. She donated it that night and the charity raffled it off for a truly impressive amount.

When Dane didn’t rise to the bait, she shifted into drive and conversationally told him, “You look like shit, brother dearest.”

“I feel like shit,” he confirmed, sighing and somehow sinking deeper into the seat. “Apparently all the flight attendants were _huge_ fans. I got three separate and very generous invitations to join the mile high club, you know.”

“Naturally,” Rosa nodded gravely though her mouth began to curve in a smile. “Did you accept any of the invitations?”

“First of all,” he said, sitting up. “I don’t want to disclose details of my sex life with my sister-”

“For a change.”

“ _Second_ of all, I hate hookups.”

“A true romantic in the modern age. Jesus take the wheel, I may swoon.”

“Don’t ask Jesus,” Dane advised. “I heard he hates the gays and I want to survive to meet the kids.”

“You’re hilarious,” Rosa informed him, entirely straight faced. “But enough of that. I need help with something.”

“If you can’t do it, no one can.”

“I need to find some way of telling Rose about Roxy and Dirk.”

Dane was quiet. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. She’s in bed for the night, but I was thinking of telling her before I send her to school tomorrow,” Rosa explained. “Portia agreed to pick her up from school since we’ll be a state away.”

“Good thinking,” Dane said. “But seriously, I have no idea. Maybe just like… announce it. Get it out of the way.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Rosa said apprehensively.

“Can you think of anything better?”

Rosa sighed.

* * *

“Dane?”

He looked over to the stairway where Rose had just emerged and waved in greeting. She hooked a left and briskly made her way to the kitchen, choosing to sit beside her older brother at the kitchen island for now.

“I didn’t know you were planning on visiting,” she said suspiciously.

“Ah, well,” he shrugged and swirled his spoon around in his cereal, barely touched given his nervous stomach that morning. This should have been Rosa’s duty, he thought, but she’d stepped out for a moment to take a call from her publisher. “There’s just… stuff… that’s come up.”

Instantly Rose was at attention.

“Is it Derek and Dave?” she demanded, face scrunching up in upset. “Is Dave okay?”

“Yeah, Dave is fine,” he rushed to reassure her. “Your twin is safe, sis, don’t worry. It’s not them.”

“Good morning, Rose,” Rosa greeted as she stepped back in from the back porch. She skirted around the dining room table to lean against the island, watching Rose guardedly.

“Good morning,” Rose greeted, shifting her suspicious gaze to her older sister. “What’s going on?”

“Let me get you some breakfast before we talk,” Rosa said, chickening out for the moment. “Any requests?”

“I can have Dane’s cereal,” Rose said. She ignored Dane’s cries for her to get her own. “Just _tell me_.”

“It’s really nothing you need to worry about,” she hedged. “We’ve just… Well we’ve recently found out we have more half-siblings.”

The house was silent enough following that revelation that Jasper could be heard kicking litter around his box in the bathroom across the house.

“I see,” Rose said although she really didn’t.

“We’ve been in contact with their case worker,” Rosa explained, smoothing a hand over the marble counter top nervously. “Dane and I are going to meet them today and discuss the possibility of adopting them.”

Dane spoke up to break the awkward silence as Rose stared at Rosa, face completely devoid of any clues to what she was thinking. “They’re twins and a bit older than you and Dave.”

“They’ve had a rough time of it,” Rosa said cryptically, not wanting to burden Rose with too much information. “We’re going to visit and we’ll likely be gone the entire day, so Portia will be the one to pick you up from school today.”

Rose swallowed hard, the only outward indication of her upset that she would allow. Very politely, she told them, “I actually don’t feel hungry. I’ll be in my room until I have to leave.”

The adults watched her scoot away from the island and hop off her stool anxiously. She hadn’t even made it to the stairs before they were trading anxious looks behind her back. As soon as he felt Rose was safely out of earshot, he said, “That could have gone worse.”

“True,” Rosa sighed and turned to pour herself a cup of coffee. “But it could have gone a lot better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr under vvoidknight if you want to keep up with the void.


End file.
